This update is probably the biggest yet. Sorry, updates are becoming fewer and fewer, I've had a lot of school-work to do, so I haven't been able to write chapters much. Also, I'll be editing some of my chapters over the next few weeks, so if you've already read them, I suggest you re-read. Sorry if this is an inconvenience!
'A man begins cutting his wisdom teeth the first time he bites off more than he can chew.'
- Herb Caen
It's the moment I have been dreading ever since I stepped from the train that took me home. The Reaping. I have to mentor some weak, dainty-looking kid from the small middle-school in District 12, to watch them get killed in the bloodbath. Nothing I say will ever sway their greedy thoughts of getting some food from the Cornucopia. I may be mistaken; maybe a strong young adult will come along, and they will win, and I won't have to mentor the tributes.
Such desperate thoughts my mind breeds. Of course, that will never happen.
I walk to the back, sheltered part of the stage that houses the people who will take to the stage soon, and my mind reels as I think up endless possibilities of what the tributes will be like. Smart, greedy and cunning? Weak, starving and hopeless? I'm guessing, wait, no, I know, it will be the latter. I shake my head as the anthem blares out from speakers around the square. The mayor is up, introducing Shauna, then me, and I walk into the sun-lit stage and take my place beside Shauna Mildeen. The mayor's speech drones on for what seems like an eternity. Then Shauna is standing up, walking, swishing her shoulders as the click-clack noise from her heels echoes around the silent square, to the podium with the glass ball, holding the names of the girls from all around the district. Time seems to slow down considerably as Shauna picks the slip and crosses to the microphone. Her lips form the name of Clementine Finche.
The girl in question is tiny, smaller than I had ever seen. She trembled as she walked with small, quick steps to the stage, and took her place in the empty chair beside me. Her face is set, but anyone could see through that mask and drown in the fear that clouds her eyes, and consumes her thoughts. A 12 year-old that is useless. She'll probably be dead in the first 5 minutes of the Games. I scowl and look at Shauna, waiting for her to draw the boys slip. There are no volunteers for Clementine, so I'm stuck with a wispy child.
Then Shauna draws the boy's name. Haemon Darcener was, to my uttermost surprise, a muscled, disciplined boy of 17, not looking for a fight, but not backing away from it either. He had a stony, but gentle, kind expression on his face. My face, once more, contorted into a scowl. Victors are definitely not known for their compassion. But, he at least stood a chance. He may actually win it. But, this is District 12, and the odds are in no way in our favour.
The Reaping crawls by, but I can see the people's faces, all except at least 2 families, have grown kinder, less caring, relieved, and all but grateful as their children, family, relatives and friends have been spared. Then comes the time where the children must say goodbye. As I'm not included in this, I find myself slumped impatiently in an exquisite armchair, laden with jewels. They fascinate me, and I'm lost in my thoughts for a few moments. But my thoughts are not a good place to be lost in, and I find myself sweating and trembling, looking at a big, round, ruby- red jewel and seeing Constantia's empty eye socket instead. Shaking my head, I look up to see Haemon and Clementine staring at me. I scowl and say gruffly, 'Let's go. Onto the train, please.'
Haemon looks me in the eye and says, 'Why do you not care?' I eyes bore into his, and to my surprise, my face softens noticeably and I say gently 'I do care. It's just I know what's coming. And you have no idea.'
And they don't. No one except the other victors have a clue what is awaiting them. Life, if they live, is much, much worse than death. I don't tell them, though. It will just scare the life out of them, and then I will end up with not one, but two helpless, defenceless tributes who want to live, and die at the same time. I sigh noticeably, but no one says anything.
The meal that night is, in fact, better than I've ever tasted, including my 'terrific' time on this very train as a tribute. I can see even Haemon has weakened at the sight of so much food, and he too has joined Clementine in stuffing their faces. I know what comes next; green cheeks and stomach aches. I would know, I've been through it before.
District One, Two and Four have large amounts of Volunteers, and the tributes picked; Paris and Alexandria, don't look overly big or powerful, but are sure to excel at some kind of weaponry. District Two's boy tribute, Damion, is huge; big, heavy muscles and towering 2 metres. His sadistic grin and cocky attitude are imposing and intimidating. Three has tiny tributes that are as small as Clementine. Seven has strong, stocky kids of about 16; they are most likely to possess some strength. Eleven's girl tribute, Ebony, is a 12 year-old, but she isn't as small as I would've thought. Then Twelve comes and goes, and it's over.
When the tribute train pulls up at the station, Clementine actually squeals in delight and rushes to the window, waving and smiling like a madman. Haemon hesitates, before becoming overcome with curiosity and peeping through the window too. Their wide eyes and open mouths make their awe obvious. But, I can't blame them. I was almost exactly the same. We walk out into a world of flashes and loud, questioning voices, but as we hurry to the Remake centre, we quickly leave them behind, and Clementine and Haemon find themselves in the company of their prep teams. Leaving them to it, I go to the Control Room and get acquainted with my work space. A tap on my shoulder makes me jump, but I relax when I realise I'm in the presence of my mentor from my own games. He begins to explain what I have to do, how to send parachutes, and, most importantly, how to attract sponsors.
That night, the chariot rides go by without much of a flash. They really weren't that spectacular. Twelve had coalmining jumpsuits, headlamps and pickaxes, same as always. I feel almost sorry for Clementine and Haemon, who were clearly not impressed.
I meet them in the foyer of the Training Centre, where we enter the elevator and go shooting up to the 12th storey of the building.
'Go to bed, now.' I tell Clementine and Haemon, and they nod as they trail down the corridor to the rooms. I'm thinking over our competition, and how the odds are not in our favour. Well, not Clementine's, anyway. Haemon was one of the fittest in amongst the Careers, and a few others. He may not be as tall, or as muscular, but he was determined, and he was strong. Never underestimate the need for physical strength. It can come in very handy in the arena once the fight had begun.
"Haemon…...what are your strengths? Or weakness'." I add. He thinks for a moment, before replying, "Well, I'm strong, and I have a fair bit of brute force. My father taught me to throw knives, and I've thrown some axes before."
"Are you any good?" I enquire. He nods, and says, "Yeah. Almost 100% accurate. Or so my father said." Thinking this over, I smile a little and nod. "Okay, good. And you, Clementine?" She looks me in the eye, and says, "Well, I may not be very strong, or muscle, or big, but I'm very quick on my feet, and agile. I know a lot about edible plants and survival skills. I guess that isn't much, though." Her eyes fall downcast, but my mind is crawling. She's right, of course, but an idea is forming in my mind. They will need allies, and who better to ally with than their district partner? Together, these tributes may actually stand a chance!
I tell them something I figured out from my times in the Games, to not flaunt their skills in front of their competition. "Save it for the Gamemakers," I say. "If you show off in front of everyone else, you quite possibly will make them jealous, and that's where hate grows from. Alliances will form and you will be the centre target to get rid of before the real fun begins." They both understand what I'm saying. Save your real skills for your private sessions, and appear ignorant and plain average to the other competitors. As I watch them walk cautiously down the corridor to the lift, I remember what all the other tributes looked like, and how afraid they must be feeling. Shaking my head, I enter the elevator and press the button to head to the training centre.
As the doors open onto the vast space filled with tributes, trainers and equipment, I let Clementine and Haemon go on, while I hang back to watch with the other mentors. One of the mentors, from District 11, comes over to greet me.
"You're new, aren't you? Shame, isn't it, getting to know your kids before sending them to be slaughtered. Isn't much of a consolation, but I get how you feel. You get your hopes up; you get it branded into your brain that they will win. But they won't. They never do."
Confused, I turn to look at him properly. The face rings a bell, and somewhere in my mind a picture surfaces; The Hunger Games, not long ago, but a couple of years back. Chaff, who won his games, and became the next Victor for District 11. He lost his hand during his games, and seeing as he hasn't got a replacement from the Capitol, I'm guessing he refused the offer. I know how he feels, but I'm not listening as Chaff starts to talk. I'm actually trying to remember as much as I can about his Games. For some unknown, inconvenient reason, I can't remember a single thing about it. Cursing silently, I start to listen in on the banter coming from Chaff's lips.
It's unrelated talk recounting his life since his games, and I don't really care, but I can see the sadness in his eyes from telling me his personal experiences. I want to ask him questions about the after-math of his Games, but then lunch is called and he has to check on his tributes. I tell him I'll bring my tributes over to their table, though.
Catching sight of the number 12 on their backs, I pick my way through the crowd to them, and once we all have trays of food, I lead them to the District 11 table. Awkward hellos are exchanged between the tributes, but Chaff greets me like an old friend. Plonking myself down across from him, I listen in to his extravagant tales he begins to tell.
Surprisingly, the Capitol has provided alcohol for the mentors and practically everyone except the tributes. Chaff scoops up and away two bottles of the strongest kind of wine around, and pours me a large glass full of the tart liquid. I've never had wine, or any alcohol before, but I'm curious enough to want to try it. My mother never let me try any, and so I never had any until now. My mind filling up with painful thoughts and memories, I take a sip from the glass. The taste is sweet and refreshing, and after my glass is finished, my head goes foggy and it disorientates me momentarily, but I relish the feeling of not being able to think straight. I reach for the bottle for a refill, but Chaff beats me to it and my glass is once again, full. Training finishes for the day, and with my rocky head, I take some bottles up to my room after giving a goodbye to Chaff. He doesn't hear me, too drunk to hear anything, let alone let anything register. I'm surprised I can even stand up.
The next day is another training day for Clementine and Haemon. For the first time, I begin sizing up our competition, and it dawns on me that, although District 12's tributes are strong, the Careers are much, much better, and the Victor will most likely be one of them. Slumping in my chair, I look around for Chaff, and any spare alcohol, but neither makes an appearance. It's later into the day, when I am focusing my attention on Clementine's attempts at starting a fire, that Chaff rambles up to me, his sight settling on Julien, his scrawny tribute. He sighs, and I know why. His tributes will have performed miracles if they get passed the Bloodbath. But before he can say anything, the bell that signals lunch chimes loudly and we head off to the buffet holding our meal.
That night our little party, including myself, Clementine and Haemon, Shauna, District Twelve's stylists, and the prep team, sit around the table, chattering away, Clementine and Haemon telling me all about their training session. "Tomorrow is the private sessions with the Gamemakers. I think you already know what to do." I remind them. They both nod. "Yeah," Haemon says. "Show them our best assets and skills." Clementine agrees wholeheartedly. They know what they have to do. I nod and send them off to bed, so they get a good night's rest. I'm starting to head that way myself. I'm somewhat comforted by the idea that these tributes have got a good idea of what's coming, and have the common sense to not overestimate themselves. With this thought resting steadily in the back of my mind, I drift off into the most peaceful slumber I've slept through since I stepped on that stage a year ago.
I rise late in the morning, not thinking, nor caring, about the time of breakfast and how late I am. Slumping in a dining chair, I dig in to this feast and fill myself up full of delicious food, but quickly, because I need to get ready for training. Waiting at the elevator for Haemon and Clementine, we head to the gym for the hardest, final phase of training; impressing the Gamemakers. I have no idea how they will do, because their sessions will be private, between the Gamemakers and the tributes only, and the rest of us will have to make do with watching the scores. I don't stay with them until they are called in, but I do, however, decide to try out something my mentor explained that was important; round up interested sponsors and sign them up. Charisma is one of my lesser traits, but I know a few tricks, courtesy of my mentor.
That night we all crowd onto the lounges to watch the training scores. The districts flash by, starting with district 1, with a simple headshot and training score underneath. The Careers naturally get a score of 8 – 10, which isn't surprising at all. I do notice the tributes from 7, Andrea and Oak, get an 8 and 9, scores that impress me, seeing as district 7 isn't known for great tributes. District 11 has poor scores, but District 12's own Clementine Finche, a tiny girl from a small, poor district, gets a 7. We all cheer loudly, but quieten down to hear Haemon's score. I almost suspect it, but when he pulls a 10, we know we have such a great chance I can almost smell victory in the air. I know we can do it. I just know. And we won't have to wait long to find out. There are just the interviews tomorrow, and then the tributes will be thrown into the arena. Just the very thought of the arena sends me into a headspin of ferocious thoughts, and I find myself wishing for Chaff to appear with some alcohol. In some state of hysteria and paranoia, I shake my head, and get up to go to bed, ordering our tributes to do the same. It isn't long before I fall asleep, although my night is riddled with awakening and falling asleep again.
That morning, I find my own stylist and begin to get prepped for my appearance on live TV. Instead of being grateful, I find myself agitated as I am suited in a black tuxedo and an orange bow tie. Why orange, I have no idea, but I can't really say anything. Soon enough, Shauna, Clementine, Haemon and I are backstage on the stage set up in front of the training centre. As directed, we walk to our seats, accompanied by screaming and cheering crowds. I sit, with Shauna, on a raised platform with all the other tributes stylists, mentors, and escorts, waiting patiently to watch the interviews. District one's tributes are bloodthirsty, and more interestingly, mysterious. Caesar asks about 25 questions and no one has any idea who she is. District 3 has a fidgety, ingenious pair, while District 7 are determined, and strong. Haemon is very much the same, and is protective of his family, and Clementine. Clementine appears weak and needy, although a mischievous glint in her eye gives it away to anyone who looks closely. No one does though, because the Capitol never inspects anything too closely. They're all too clueless.
After the interviews, we all head into the elevator and go shooting upwards. Tomorrow, they will be facing the arena. I can tell by their faces that Clementine and Haemon are both feeling a mix of emotions, from fear, to adrenaline. Although it's early evening, we eat our meal quickly, and I send the tributes off to bed. I know they won't be getting much sleep tonight, if any. I probably won't, either, reliving all my horrors of the 50th hunger games. I wake before dawn, though, sweating and shivering due to a cold sweat. But, just after, Naylor, my Capitol mentor from my games, wakes me. I get ready quickly, and follow him to the elevator, but not before Clementine catches me.
"You know what to do," I reassure her. She nods solemnly. We discussed their strategy in detail, and they both decided to be allies in the arena. After Haemon goes up to the cornucopia and Clementine grabs what she can without getting killed, they will meet up somewhere away from the cornucopia and the bloodbath. It's as good a plan as any. She walks away, following Shauna to the rooftop, accompanied by Haemon and both their stylists. I step into the elevator with Naylor, and we arrive at the Control Room quickly enough. It's a huge expanse of comfy, roomy cubicles. They include a large computer that I've already familiarised myself with, a single bed, apparently so that one mentor can rest while the other keeps an eye on the tributes, and a coffee machine. I'm going to need it, because there's only me, and I want these tributes to come home badly. On the computer, one of the options are live streaming, which shows the empty plates. After the opening, it will show your tributes only, because it would be unfair to see the other tributes. Another option also shows the arena as a scanner, showing your tributes and where they are in the arena. Right now there is nothing. I get settled, and go to find Chaff, once the pleasant voice comes over the P.A. system, and tells us there is 10 minutes until the tributes rise up. I find him, alone, in his cubicle, not drinking alcohol, but downing cup after cup of coffee. He sees me and smiles, and wishes me and my tributes luck. I thank him, and am just about to start a conversation, when the voice echoes around the Control room, announcing 2 minutes before the tributes rise up. Chaff gestures to my cubicle.
"You might want to get ready," he suggests. I nod, and walk back over. I make sure I'm comfortable, I know where everything is. I pour myself a cup of coffee and watch the live video as the tributes rise up on their plates. I check the funds and surprise myself when I see a fair amount. It seems the odds are in our favour, for now. As Claudius Templesmith's voice rings out, I focus on Haemon, who seems worried, but focused on what he has to do. Clementine looks scared; it's visible on her face, in her eyes. But, her face set, she doesn't hesitate when the gong rings out, loud and clear, across the arena.